


her

by myefflorescence



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Character Study, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, One-Sided Attraction, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22227832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myefflorescence/pseuds/myefflorescence
Summary: they're just not meant to be in this lifetime // 10.10.19
Relationships: Akashi Seijuurou & Momoi Satsuki, Akashi Seijuurou/Momoi Satsuki, Generation of Miracles & Momoi Satsuki
Comments: 7
Kudos: 42





	her

Akashi Seijuurou does not believe in fate.  
  
What he does believe in, however, is that mankind controls life himself. After all, God has created them to be on top of the food chain, has he not? Those who let fate play them like a pawn on a chessboard is merely not strong enough to take matters into their own hands — in this world of disorders and madness, power is everything. Akashi Seijuurou has no weaknesses, nor will he ever possess them: the weak is below him, and his orders are absolute.   
  
Yet, there are times when he is brutally reminded of the fact that in the end, he is only mortal. And life does not favor all, not even an Akashi.  
  
The first time his belief was defied was when his beloved mother passed away.   
  
And then, he swore to never harbor something even as close to the emotion called love, because feelings were a weakness and that was a luxury he couldn’t afford.   
  
No, he did not love basketball.   
  
No, he did not love the days he spent playing it underneath the roof of Teikou Junior High.  
  
No, he did not love the team they once were before dubbed as the _Generation of Miracles_. The name was ridiculous and none of them ever really acknowledged it.  
  
The second time his belief was defied was when Rakuzan lost against Seirin.   
  
_It is a century before Rakuzan's defeat_ , he had told them with absolute confidence during the match. He hadn’t just believed in that then — he had known for a fact that victory would be theirs. It had to be. But the bitter humiliation that followed when he was betrayed by fate even after putting everything on the line to secure said victory was abominable, to say the very least.   
  
And although his belief hasn’t exactly been swayed afterwards, he supposes that something inside him has undoubtedly changed since his inner counterpart vanished. It is a loss and a relief at the same time — no longer is he tormented by his inner demon, and his power is more absolute now than ever when their abilities are both combined. Still, there are moments when he has to admit he misses the company. After all, it is only him who can truly understand himself.   
  
It‘s not that Akashi Seijuurou doesn’t feel. He simply chooses not to acknowledge those feelings, because they are burdensome and useless in his conquest of absolute victory against fate. He deems those who are so openly sentimental misfortunate souls — that’s why he finds the lethargic Atsushi, the inexpressive Tetsuya, and the prudish Shintarou to be less troublesome than others. Ryouta is too loud, Daiki never bends to the rules (the rules bend around him), and Satsuki feels _too much_.   
  
He had known from the very moment she announced herself the manager of Teikou’s basketball team that her passion would be her downfall: she is too sensitive, too thoughtful, too vulnerable. The way she pulled restless nights to analyze their opponents and the way she cared about every little detail of their team members never escaped his observant gaze. He had to praise her efforts, of course, but he found it terribly ironic how in the end, Satsuki wept for the tragedy of them all even if she had contributed greatly to it herself — sure, they were prodigies, but would they have been able to climb high enough to fall without her enthusiastic help?   
  
It’s a shame, he thinks. Because Momoi Satsuki is the only female figure apart from his deceased mother who comes close to leaving a lasting impact in his life. Although they can’t possibly be more peculiar, in a way, she mirrors his intellect, his wits beautifully so — this much he has realized the first time she illustrated her skills for the team to see. The change in her usual cheerfulness, her glimmering eyes was a fascination to behold: he noticed how her gaze would sharpen, her eyebrows would tighten, and the lively look in those ruby hues would be replaced by sheer intent to crush their opponents. While their abilities are quite similar, the basis of them have been different. His Emperor Eye allows him to predict his enemies’ movements on the court, but dare he say, hers far surpasses that. While he can only see the future based on what has happened and what is happening, on existing data; she fills in the blanks herself, goes beyond simple predictions, and knows which courses of action will be taken before the player even knows himself. For this alone, he deems her worthy of being his partner in crime.   
  
But Momoi Satsuki _feels_ and he does _not_.   
  
So at that time, he pretended to not notice how she was breaking inside, gnawing at herself, wilting like the roses in his vase. He pretended not to hear her heart shattering into pieces when he indulged Daiki and Atsushi’s disobedience, and pretended not to hear his own heart tearing itself apart at the look of despair on her face when he told her she was no longer of use to the team. By then, he was too far gone.   
  
She was akin to some sort of substances that glued them together, or at the very least, _attempted to_. But glass was never meant to be fixed that way — once they broke, they stayed broken.   
  
There are things he can’t possess no matter how powerful he is.   
  
"It’s time to change members, Momoi," he tells her as the basketball rolls to her feet and she bends down to pick it up. Akashi Seijuurou doesn’t have a weakness, but for a brief moment, he is questioning the authenticity of said fact because her ruby eyes are positively _radiant_ when they shimmer with crystal tears that linger on long lashes, and it prompts him to think that he won’t mind conquering the world for her if only she asks.   
  
"Everyone is waiting for you."  
  
With his affirmation, she runs off to the center of the court in a rush of childlike excitement. He stays behind, watching as she blends in flawlessly with the rest of them, like the final piece to their puzzle — and is reminded that they belong to different worlds after all.   
  
His world is too cruel, too chaotic, too evil. It is full of bitter truths and merciless intentions, of immense pressure guaranteed to crush everyone and anyone with a tight fist. Hers is bright and positive and hopeful; she hasn’t given in to the despair that temporarily overtook back in their middle school days, and she doesn’t give up on the boys, ever. She belongs with them, he muses, noticing the way she flushes ever so prettily when Tetsuya compliments her, noticing the way Daiki’s gaze somehow always strays towards her direction even if he’s unaware of it.   
  
He is not selfish enough to tear her away from that happiness, even if it equals to his own.   
  
❝Satsuki, I told you already...❞ The rest of Daiki’s sentence falls on his deaf ear as he is suddenly reminded of one particular afternoon they spent in each other’s company.   
  
It took place back in their Teikou days — the _happy_ ones. The rest of the team had gone on to hit the local convenience store that was all too familiar with their alarmingly large expenditure for popsicles and snacks before heading home, but she had offered to stay behind and help him finish planning their strategies for next season’s tournament. The classroom was empty saved for the two of them: they sat beside each other by a window, the only sounds filling the silence were the scribbling of pencil against paper, her gentle voice as she pointed out the data she had analyzed, and him softly humming every now and then to agree with her. There was little need to criticize — she did things with intimidatingly high accuracy, after all.   
  
"You could’ve joined the rest, Momoi," he told her once they had finished and she was stretching her arms above her head. "I wouldn’t have minded handling the data alone."  
  
"Nonsense, Akashi-kun," she exclaimed in that bubbly voice of hers and dismissed his statements with a swat of her hand. "It’s a manager’s job! You already have a handful dealing with vice-captain duties as it is."  
  
Well, he supposed she was right.   
  
Silence dawned upon them afterwards, until she decided to disrupt it with a question that bewildered him.   
  
"Akashi-kun."  
  
"Yes"  
  
"...Why do you never call me by my first name, like you do with everyone else?"  
  
For a moment, he was at a loss of words. It wasn’t that he hadn’t realized it before, he just never expected her to notice as well. Still, he rather blamed something else for his temporary shock than her actual question. Perhaps, it was the look of childlike wonder on her virtuous face — how those large, doe-like eyes captivated his gaze within’ the confinement of its sparkling hues; or the lightheartedness that escaped her parted lips in soft hums as she then directed her attention elsewhere than his fixated stare, innocently playing with a lock of pink hair that framed her face.   
  
_Why_ , she asked.   
  
Because she was never meant to be more than a manager, that’s why. Because his heart was never meant to spring alive at the mere sight of her, the mere sound of her voice, the mere idea of being in her company. To call her by her name would brought their proximity to another level, and the vulnerability she would’ve been able to see then _frightened_ him.   
  
"...You never gave me a nickname like you do the others as well," he pointed out, successfully avoiding the question as she proceeded to flush in embarrassment of being caught.   
  
"Mou...Akashi-kun is always right," she huffed and pouted, not able to come up with a reason to justify herself.   
  
The corner of his mouth lifted up in a prideful grin at her remark. "Will it make you happy if I call by that, then? _Just this once._ "  
  
She eagerly nodded.  
  
 ** _"...Satsuki."_**  
  
He placed an elbow on the desk and leaned into his hand, captivated as she practically glowered with happiness even at this simple thing, blessing him with a beaming smile that turned her eyes to crescent moons. By then, he understood that he had made a grave mistake when she was no longer _Momoi Satsuki_ and instead, simply _Satsuki_ — the girl who wore the gold and scarlet of sunset spilling through the window as though they were merely jewelries to accentuate her beauty; who felt fanciful, ethereal, and entirely out of his reach.   
  
"Akashi-kun!"   
  
He is startled out of his reminiscence upon the calling of his name. The girl from his trip down the memory lane is there, standing in front of him, only she is _present_ and real and now a young woman rather than the adolescent he once knew: rounded cheeks are refined to soft angles, feminine features more prominent, more defined. Only her eyes remain the same — ever glowing, ever reflective of her optimism and hopefulness.   
  
"...Thank you," she whispers appreciatively only for him to hear, and the split second in which their fingers barely graze each other’s when she hands him the basketball is a short lived bliss. As her infectious smile prompts him to do the same in return, he finally comes to the conclusion that fragments of her should be locked away for good.   
  
_Perhaps, in another lifetime, where he is no longer an Akashi..._


End file.
